Rainy Day in Baseballland - Chapter 1

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Rainy Day in Baseballland

by Tradere

Libraries: Poetry and Song Lyrics

Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 1 Review(s)

Updated on

Poem about a kid's imagination during a rainy day.

Rainy Day in Baseballland
 

Based on: Casey at the Bat
 


 

It was a rainy day in Baseballland
 

The players were home in bed
 

One rookie rolled over his eyelids a flutter
 

With dreams of a stand-up triple running through his head
 


 

The cleats and spikes were all on hooks
 

Along with mitts, bats, and caps
 

And even Cal Ripken Jr. had settled down
 

For a long summer’s nap
 


 

Outside the rain was pouring down
 

While puddles drenched the field
 

But little Eric Hopkins came to play
 

And his imagination refused to yield
 


 

His mitt lay soggy in a puddle
 

And his sleeves were drenched with rain
 

As his hands clenched a cold bat with a hope
 

“That springs eternal in the human brain.”
 


 

Little Eric threw the ball up swung and missed,
 

And the umpire bawked, “Strike one!”
 

He tapped his cleats, picked up the ball, and reminded the ghost crowd,
 

“This rain won’t ruin my fun.”
 


 

For little Eric loved the game
 

And he loved the feel of stitched leather in his hands
 

As he waved to his mom, who sat with his fabricated wife
 

And his invented kids up there in the fantasy stands
 


 

And now the imaginary pitcher holds the ball
 

And now he lets it go
 

But little Eric swung and missed again
 

Which made two strikes in a row
 


 

He metaphorically dusted himself off
 

And picked up the ball once more
 

For often he wished that instead of three strikes
 

The batter could get four
 


 


 
But today he realized, it was his day
 

His wishes were his commands
 

So as he squeezed the water from his jersey
 

As he raised his finger toward the left-field stands
 


 

He was Babe Ruth, Mark McGwire, Ken Griffey Jr,
 

and Barry Bonds all together
 

And anything you said about lightning or thunder
 

Wouldn’t be getting him out of this weather
 


 

For in his head the sun was shinning
 

And the grass was green and dry
 

And he sent that low and away 0-2 pitch
 

Like a rocket into the sky
 


 

And he arrogantly trotted around the bases
 

Stepped on third and headed toward home plate
 

While his mother yelled from down the street,
 

“Dinner’s cold and you are late!”

Excerpt from:
The Spit of Siann
By: Joseph DeMarco

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